


The Side Of The Angels

by Swashbuckler



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), The Flash (Comics)
Genre: Breaking and Entering, Christianity, Churches & Cathedrals, Devils, Fear, Gen, Guilt, Haunting, Night Terrors, Set after New Year's Evil, Tears, Temptation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 10:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11439168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swashbuckler/pseuds/Swashbuckler
Summary: There’s a difference between winning a battle against the devil and winning the war.





	The Side Of The Angels

**Author's Note:**

> \- This fic has been moved from my other account to this one! -
> 
> To be taken with a pinch of salt as DC's interpretation of Neron/the devil ruling hell does not align with the Biblical presentation of hell and there is an amalgamation of both here. 
> 
> Quick warning:This fic does make reference to James essentially being haunted in his nightmares by the devil; I thought it would be wise to warn prior as there was no specific warning for this.

Midnight is not a time of fear and revelation. Just after three in the morning, however, the truth is often found in what we fear most.

And if you’re going to fear anything, the devil himself is a good place to start. 

A shadow fled down the streets, desperately looking, trying to drown out _that_ voice. A voice that had haunted his nightmares for far too long now. One night alone would have already been far too long, but for months now with no sign of ceasing, James had decided, realised - no, accepted - he needed help on an equally, no, _more_ powerful scale. 

James Jesse was not afraid of the devil. He was _terrified._

James practically threw himself over the fence at the end of the church yard, hurling himself up the gravel path towards the large wooden doors. There was a flash of silver in shaking hands as James fought to pick the lock in his panic. There was a low, dull ‘click’ as it was unlocked and without hesitation, the Trickster slipped inside. He scolded the creak of the hinges with a panicked hush, pushing the door shut behind him as if afraid of something pursuing him. He wiped his boots on the mat in a motion that was more a fidget than an action, before looking out at the stone pillars and floors and neat rows of chairs before him. Pouring over the central stone isle was a pool of coloured light from the stained-glass window above him.

James swallowed and stepped out into it, taking a deep, calming breath and putting on a smile, hands in his pockets.

“Sooo,” wheedled a shaking voice that rang out around the stone walls and up to the high ceiling, “I could really use a favour.” 

The Trickster rolled his neck, clicking it with a wince as he looked up at the mural at the front of the church. “So,” he continued, swallowing thickly. “I, uh - I’m safe here, right?” he asked with a wary frown. “Sanctuary and all?” He gestured around the church. “That still a thing? I know I broke in, but they won’t arrest me, will they?” Would they? They might. 

He’d take that risk. He had bigger things to fear than prison right now. Way bigger.

The image of Christ looked down at him from high above him, painted in the moment of His death on the cross.

How do was he supposed to address God? 

“I’m aiming for the straight and narrow here, no more mischief- mostly. No more illegal mischief,” he stressed quickly, frowning and raising a finger as he corrected himself. “Side of the angels and everything, cross my heart and hope to _not_ die just yet. Turns out, you know, in hindsight telling the devil to stick it and come kiss my a- oh, can I say that in here? To You? - because I beat him proooobably wasn’t the best idea.”

James hugged his arms around himself, stiffly looking around the church before looking up at the mural. 

“I feel like I should come up there, speak to you properly,” James said to the image of Christ above him, “face to face.” He was about to click his heels together to activate the Airwalkers so he could rise up to face God when, rocked forwards onto his toes and ready to push off from the ground, he stopped, eyes fixed on Christ. 

Slowly he lowered himself down onto his heels again. 

“Or I could stay down here,” he conceded, shivering in the cold church. In another fit of sudden daring, he spoke aloud.

“I- I beat the devil! Twice! To his ugly face! That’s gotta count for something; I get _some_ brownie points for it, right?” James’ indignant, chattering laugh bubbled up only to fizzle out as he stared up at the bowed, thorn-crowned head of the Son of God above him on the mural. James’ mouth went very dry. He swallowed forcibly and ducked his head, clearing his throat. 

“Guess...guess You wouldn’t’ve had to do _that_ if it did,” he murmured. Head still bowed, James tentatively glanced up at the mural. “There’s more to the side of the angels than just playing nice, isn’t there? Than trying to be a ‘good’ person, right?” 

There was silence for a while as James stood, staring at his shadow, a dark blot against the pool of cold coloured light that bathed him. Chewing his lip, his eyes flitted up, like a nervous child. 

“From what I’ve caught about You-” he started, throat dry. “Is, uh. You, uhm. Are in the business of, uh-” He couldn’t say it, he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t admit, out loud to God, that he was a criminal. He couldn’t. 

_...But if He’s God,_ murmured a measured, calm voice in his head, so different from the mocking, threatening one he was used to, _doesn’t He already know?_

James swallowed the lump in his throat and, very slowly, sank to his knees.

His eyes slipped shut. 

“God, I’ve met the devil.” The cold was seeping through the knees of his pants. “Made a good dent in him.” The air was stifling.” But right now-” James’ knuckles went white and he screwed up his eyes as he fought every thought and urge telling him to shut his mouth, **shut it now--!** “-right now I could really do with meeting You.” 

A shaky breath escaped James’ trembling lip after he got the words out. 

“I can’t undo being a criminal, but I got a taste of hell when dealing with Neron the first time and-” James’ voice cracked, and he shook his head, eyes screwed up. **Why are you acting like such a child?** , something else, horribly familiar, laughed in his head as it forced its way in. **Such a coward, running for help.**

“**** right,” James said aloud, not caring how his voice shook. “Sorry,” he added in afterthought, his apology intended upward rather than down. 

“...is it too late to say I’m sorry?” he whispered. A tiny sniff slipped through the church as James scrubbed at the wet warmth behind his eyelids with his palm. “For everything? ‘Coz I don’t want to do this alone. I can’t, God.” Tears were flowing hot and unbidden down tanned and freckled cheeks. “M sorry,” he mumbled, shivering on the cold stone floor in the night. James gulped down a deep breath, wiping his hands over his face. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again.

No joke. No trick. In this moment, it was possibly the most honest thing he’d ever said.

He stayed knelt on the stone floor for a little while, trying to calm himself down. Eventually he sniffed loudly, pulling his hands from his face and opening his eyes. Chewing his lip, he dared to look up at the image of Christ again. 

“Thanks for listening,” he mumbled, rising to his feet with a hiss and wobble of cold knees as he turned towards the door. As he reached it, something shiny to his left caught his eye - the collection plate, left oh-so-trustingly out in the open.

Someone forgot to cash in at the end of the day, mused James, running a finger around the ceramic rim of the dish on instinct.

 **It’d be the easiest score. Like candy from a baby,** that familiar voice encouraged.

His fingertips brushed lovingly around the rim of the plate, testing the waters. **It’d be so easy.**

The Trickster’s fingers hovered over the crumpled notes and scattered coins in the dish. 

He grit his teeth.

“No," James said quietly to the dish as his fingers curled into an empty fist that returned to the safety of his pocket. He coughed, glancing back over his shoulder at the mural of Christ.

‘’S a start, right?” he said softly. Scratching his head, he turned back to the door, clearing his throat.

“I should- I should really be going - virtue might be ever-vigilant but I’m not _that_ far yet; I need my beauty sleep. Much to the world’s surprise I’m sure, I do actually have to make some effort to maintain how cute You made me,” he added conversationally, talking upward with red eyes and tear-stained cheeks in the dark. “Don’t worry, I’ll lock the door again after I go - wouldn’t want any ruffians sneaking in and stealing everything, would we?” he joked. He pulled the heavy door almost shut. “..Speak to you again soon?” he asked of the silent church. Perhaps, maybe, just perhaps a little hopeful. “I’d love to be friends with the One who can outdo me and beat the devil once and for all,” he said with a small smile. 

The quiet was peaceful. Settled. James nodded. “See you Sunday, Big Guy.” 

The click of the door being locked behind him rang out like a bell through the empty church; it was not, however, a reminder of the Trickster’s crime.

It was the promise of something new.

**Author's Note:**

> Spoiler alert: God wins.


End file.
